“The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley,” he began at last, “is that this is very sudden. Fas du tout. The cause of this uproar was soon manifest. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. “Forgive me, madam,” he said stiffly, “but in such a case as this it is better that nothing in the room should be disturbed until the arrival of the police. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII. You shall not take me alive.
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